


Both

by arrogantCalligraphist



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Experimental Sex, Fellatio, Frottage, I don't know what else to tag, Kissing, M/M, Oh geez how do I tag, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, umm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrogantCalligraphist/pseuds/arrogantCalligraphist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a wet dream and wakes up to Sherlock looming over him. His flatmate seems fairly keen on helping John with his erection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both

**Author's Note:**

> Heh. So this is not only the first fic I've published on this site, but also the first Sherlock fic I've written. I had no beta and apologize for any grammatical/spelling errors.

Hands caress me, sliding along my torso, my sides, lingering at that slight narrowing in my waist, gripping tighter briefly before continuing their descent. I writhe under the pressure, moaning and gasping for more—more contact. And I get it. Lips press to my abdomen, my pectorals, mouthing their way up to my shoulder, gently kissing the scar there, continuing to my neck, my jaw, my cheek, then finally—finally, my lips.

The gentleness fades away, then. The lips part against mine and heat runs through me. I slide my tongue into the awaiting oral cavity and another tongue pushes and throbs against mine. Suddenly, I feel pressure over my entire front—no longer wandering hands; instead, a whole body crushes into me. I hum my appreciation of the new heat, reaching out to wrap my arms around the form, trapping it to my body. I moan out a name and the body moves against me, creating such wonderful friction against my arousal. I rut up against the figure, the sensation driving me mad. I’m close...so, so close, but then—  


I wake up muffling an embarrassing sound. My face flushes as I feel the tent in my pants. I thought by now I’d have stopped having erotic dreams...the last one I remembered having was about ten years ago. I move to roll over, but something keeps me from doing so. My eyes snap open and I see a very familiar face hovering over my own. I try to free my wrists from his hands, but his grip tightens in response.  


“John.” To my dismay, my body betrays me, sending the feeling of his deep baritone straight between my legs. My face heats up even more as my cock twitches.  


“Mmn?” I ask, eyebrows raising and head tilting, trying to seem indifferent to the scenario and instead interested in what Sherlock has to say.  


“You were dreaming,” he notes.  


“Yes, Sherlock; I was. Now I’m awake.” Sherlock rolls his eyes at my patronizing tone, but I continue anyways. “Now let me up. I have to get ready for work.”  


I again try to get up, but again Sherlock doesn’t let me. Quite the opposite, actually. Sherlock moves from looming over me from the side to straddling my hips. He’s pressed right against my erection. A quick gasp escapes me and I swallow back a groan at the contact.  


“A wet dream,” Sherlock specifies.  


“What do you want, Sherlock?” I question, absolutely mortified. I can’t honestly say this situation is completely alien. He once walked in on me in the shower and insisted that I finish my wank. While he watched. But there’s a big difference between him watching me grip my erection and him sitting on top of it. As if deducing exactly where my train of thought is, he wiggles his hips like he’s trying to get more comfortable, drawing a keen from me. “Guh. Sherlock!”  


“Mm?” he inquires innocently. His eyes pierce into me. They look silver in the dim light.  


“What,” I grit out, “Do. You. Want?”  


I curse my heart for jumping as he leans in to brush his lips against the shell of my ear. I curse my entire body for shuddering when he growls, “You.”  


My eyes close and I let out a sigh, willing myself to sink into my bed and disappear forever. I don’t know how to reply. I decide to try something new. Psychoanalysis and deduction. It seems to work for Sherlock, right? Okay, main issue: I’m not gay. Counter response: I’ve had dreams of men. Alright, I’m...curious? Curious. Sherlock’s my friend. I like Sherlock. Sherlock is currently kneeling on my dick. I have an erection. Sherlock is touching my erection. The pressure is nice. I don’t want Sherlock to stop. I want Sherlock to continue touching me.  


I want Sherlock.  


I turn my head and crane my neck to gently place a kiss on Sherlock’s soft lips. He doesn’t quite smile in response—it’s more of a smirk, really—but I can tell the action pleased him. Sherlock deepens the kiss as I turn my head back to its original position. I’m legitimately surprised when I hear him half moan, half grunt into my mouth. His body writhes against mine and I want so desperately to tangle my fingers in those curly dark locks, to tug on them and see what sort of reactions I could draw from this oh-so-peculiar man. However, the more I try to move my hands, the harder Sherlock grips my wrists.  


I’m overcome with a wave of helplessness, of powerlessness. A whimper escapes my throat at the thought of being completely at someone else’s mercy. Usually such a feeling would be completely unwelcome and extremely uncomfortable. But here? Pinned beneath my flatmate as he ravages my mouth? Not so unwelcome. My lower anatomy seems to agree with me, at least.  


Sherlock pulls back all too soon. His cheeks are only slightly red, but his lips are full, flushed, and wet. His breathing is heavy and his pupils are blown with desire. I try to chase after him, to reconnect. I can still feel him in my mouth—a phantom sensation—and I want to feel it again.  


“Man or woman?” he asks, just out of reach. I groan and collapse back onto my pillow.  


“What?” I ask, fighting the impulse to roll my eyes. I don’t want to talk, I want to make out and do something about the throbbing member beginning to ache as it strains against my underwear.  


“In your dream. Were you fornicating with a man or a woman?” he specifies, looking very intent.  


I wrack my brain briefly, trying to remember what my dream had been about. Nothing specific came to mind—just general ideas and hormones. “I...I don’t remember. Why’s that important?”  


Sherlock smiles triumphantly, as if he’s won an argument. Instead of answering my question, he moves my arms so he can hold both my wrists in one of his hands. With his free hand, he cups my face and kisses me gently. He’s a pretty good kisser, actually. A quick study. But then, I already knew that. Memories of New Year’s flood my mind—me grasping Sherlock’s shoulders as he leaned in for a tentative snog. That was different, though. That was an experiment. It dawns on me then that this is probably just an experiment, too, but it feels so good that I don’t care.  


He sucks my lower lip into his mouth and kneads it with his teeth before letting go and switching back to thrusting his tongue against mine. As his hand travels down my neck and side, sliding over my hips, sandwiched between the two of us, I find myself caring less and less about the possibility of this being an experiment.  


Sherlock’s lips migrate to my earlobe, which he mouths playfully. It feels nice, and I hum in approval, but apparently the reaction’s unsatisfactory for Sherlock, since he frowns and moves to my neck. He lavishes my throat with kisses and bites. When he finds a particularly tender spot, he sucks a dark red mark into my skin. My back arches at the pleasurable spike shooting through my body. At this, Sherlock smiles, and his hand rubs against my clothed erection. I keen and cant my hips into his touch.  


“Ohh, god, Sherrrlock,” I groan, head lolling back and eyes fluttering shut. He chuckles and I suddenly feel self-conscious. “What?” I ask defensively, peeking out at him through one eye. Sherlock just shakes his head, his curls bobbing with the movement. He sucks at another sensitive area under my jawline. My spine curves from the pleasure. My shoulders ache from the strain I’m putting on them from struggling. But that slight pain means nothing compared to the electricity coursing through me at Sherlock’s touch.  


“Why are you fighting me, John?” Sherlock asks between kisses. His lips move down to my lower neck, just above my clavicle. His hand grips harder on my dick, his wrist twisting as a deep moan bubbles in my throat.  


“Mm, because,” I manage to get out through my gasps and sighs. “I—I want t-to—nnn!” He’s not making this easy for me. I take a deep—albeit shaky—inhalation and rush out, “Iwanttotouchyou,Sherlock!”  


I feel the vibrations in his chest against me as he chuckles, the low sound practically sex for my ears. “Oh, my dear Watson,” he muses, drawing back to look me in the eyes. I see something there as he flicks his gaze back and forth, up and down, analyzing me. His brow furrows ever-so-slightly. While it only takes seconds for him to reach a conclusion, the time seems to stretch for an eternity for me. He wets his lips, pink tongue darting over that sharp cupid’s bow of his, and speaks quickly.  


“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to let go of you now. I’m going to go down on you, and I’m going to take as much of you as I possibly can.” I writhe as his delicious voice paints a vivid image in my mind. “I’m going to suck you off and you’re going to ejaculate into my mouth and I’m going to swallow it.” My eyes widen. This wasn’t the most explicit dirty talk I’ve heard by far, but the fact that it’s Sherlock saying it makes my cock weep in anticipation. “But,” he continues sharply, and the authoritative voice he’s using makes my pulse stutter. “If you move your hands so much as an inch, if you try to take control at all...it will all stop. I’ll get up, and I’ll walk out. Is that understood?”  


The sound I make is not human.  


Sherlock seems to interpret it at consent.  


When his hands leave my wrists, I flex the muscles in my hands minutely, trying to restore proper circulation. I uncross my wrists and they’re sticky with sweat. Sherlock raises an eyebrow at me, but I promptly put my hands palms-up on the bed above my head—a position of complete surrender. He nods in approval.  


If I hadn’t woken up with a full hard-on, Sherlock’s participation had certainly helped the process. As he lies on his stomach, supported on his elbows, one hand wraps around my dick and his thumb smears the forming bead of pre-cum there, mixing it with the other pre-ejaculatory fluids dripping down my member. I watch, entranced, as he brings that thumb to his lips and licks the liquid off, sucking his digit wetly into his mouth and making a very lewd sound of enjoyment.  


A deep shudder wracks my body and I don’t even try to be quiet when I let out a long moan. There was always something about Sherlock that I found enticing. The way he knows things, the way he rattles off his deductions, that glint he gets in his eyes when he realizes he wants to test something, the very faint but still present look of sadness when he disappoints someone. Now, his eyes twinkle as they do when he tries something new, and my heart soars when I realize he’s enjoying himself even mentally, taking notes on the experiment.  


Again, his long, elegant fingers surround me, and I can feel the warmth my rushing blood is radiating heating his hand. Sherlock begins to pump slowly, my cock slicked and shiny already. The amount of pressure varies at first and I can tell he’s gauging my reactions to each variation. It feels nice—of course it feels nice—having Sherlock lazily stroke me. My fingers twitch as I imagine placing my hand over his and guiding his amateurish movements, but I know better. I promised I wouldn’t...sort of. I’d meant to, anyways, even if I hadn’t actually voiced the agreement in coherent words.  


Sherlock’s eyes flick up above my head briefly—he’d noticed the slight twitch—and when he brings his eyes back to mine, he brings his face closer to my groin. He places a feather-light kiss to the inside of my thigh and my leg clenches at the contact. Sherlock smirks at this and grabs the waistband of my pants, pulling down and letting my erection breathe. He licks lightly at the exposed skin, trailing the very tip of his pointed tongue along my flesh. I inhale sharply and make a whining sound in my throat. Just get on with it, Holmes, I want to growl. I would say it, but I’m not sure if that breaks the rule thing...trying to take control.  


When Sherlock finally takes me into his mouth, I become startlingly aware of the fact that he’s never done this before. His teeth graze roughly over the head of my penis and I gasp. “Sherlock!” He ignores my protest and continues, tongue flicking out over the inch he has in his mouth, rolling over it and memorizing the shape of it. Suddenly the fact that he was so alarmingly novice stops bothering me. The pressure of his teeth isn’t at all bad—actually rather stimulating, since it draws more attention to the nerves in that area.  


He soon becomes bored of such a small amount of surface area to explore and so takes me in deeper. “Sherlock...” I try again. I don’t want him to stop, but I do want to help him out, advise him on the proper technique for performing fellatio. It’s not as if the wet heat isn’t fantastic, it’s just...it could be even better.  


Sherlock pulls back and I grunt as cold air clings to the spit on my member. “Yes, John?” he asks, hand languidly pumping me.  


“Can I...umm...not trying to, well, take the lead or anything, but...can I help you?” I stammer.  


“Help me?”  


“As in...sort of instruct you. Just a bit.”  


Sherlock’s brilliant eyes search mine and finally he nods, head moving back down. “Okay, well. First thing’s first; no teeth.” Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at me, obviously not understanding. “You have to, well...God, this is odd. You’re supposed to wrap your lips over your teeth, like—ohhh, God!” Apparently Sherlock doesn’t need an example—he swallows around my dick again, and this time my hips buck up involuntarily from the spike of pleasure. Sherlock doesn’t gag, but pulls back a little bit from surprise. He looks up at me, eyes wide and eager for his next instruction. I moan again and consciously press my hands further into the bed—what I wouldn’t give to just grab onto those auburn curls and fuck his beautiful mouth. But no, I have to control myself. I don’t want to scare him off.  


“Yeah, yeah that’s good. Really good,” I pant, and his eyes light up from the praise. “Now...tongue. Use tongue, and—hnnng!” He uses tongue alright. He rolls and twirls it all over every inch in his mouth. His cheeks hollow as he subconsciously sucks more of me in and I let out a cry. “Ah, Sherlock! Oh, God no, don’t stop. That was good. So good.”  
He’s as quick a study in blowing as he is in kissing. It’s not long before he’s practically massaging my knob with his mouth—sucking and licking and bobbing. His hands have taken to gripping my hips, keeping me still as his lips slide up and down my cock. My thighs clench in the absolute euphoria I’m feeling and my head lolls back on my pillow, eyes squeezing shut as I focus on that unbearable heat pooling in my abdomen.  
Sherlock my know I’m close—how could he not, with how vocal I’m being—because he quickly buries his head in my crotch, taking me completely in his mouth. He sucks hard and swallows in quick succession and the feeling of those muscles all clenching around me is too much; I haven’t been deep-throated in so long. My orgasm tears through my entire body, pulsing like a heartbeat as I spill into Sherlock’s waiting mouth. He milks me completely, cleaning up my now-oversensitive prick with his gentle tongue. He doesn’t miss a drop.  


When he finishes, he looks up at me expectantly, as if awaiting more praise. I smile down at him, chest heaving and thoroughly satisfied. “Kiss me,” I command him, and he does. He crawls back on top of me and pecks my lips lightly. Oh, no. That won’t do at all.  


I move quickly, thanks to my past military experience. I wrap my arms around him, fingers finally threading through his soft hair, and flip him over so that he’s pinned underneath my weight. I kiss him deeply, tasting something different from before, something that must be...well, me. The thought of tasting my own semen on Sherlock’s tongue is a lot more erotic than I might have originally believed.  


It takes me a moment before I realize Sherlock’s not kissing back anymore. Ice runs through my veins and I pull back. I’m not going to panic, I’m not going to—I’m panicking. Did I cross a line? Did I push him too far? Does he hate me now? Oh, God, what did I do?  


“John,” he says softly, interrupting my racing thoughts.  


“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” I reply instantly. “I shouldn’t have—”  


He cuts me off. “John, I think...I’ve had a physical reaction.” I pause and look at him curiously.  


“You what?”  


He sighs, annoyed, and rolls his eyes. “I’ve had a physical reaction,” he repeats. I continue staring blankly. “I have an erection, John.”  


“Oh! Right...well, that sort of thing tends to happen in these situations, Sherlock.”  


“To normal people,” he mumbles. I laugh breathily.  


“Perhaps you’re more normal than you think,” I tell him, kissing his nose. He scoffs and I smile. “I’m not insulting you. Just making a point.”  


My snake my hand down to cup the bulge in his trousers, but he squirms away. “What are you doing, John?” he asks, struggling under your body.  


“I was...going to help you get off?” I say, my voice phrasing it as more of a question than I’d intended.  


“Just leave it. It’ll go away,” he replies, avoiding eye contact and pouting slightly.  


“What? Sherlock. You can’t just leave it! Let me help you!” I protest, and his cheeks tinge red. “Wait...Sherlock...are you...embarrassed?”  


“No!” he answers too abruptly. He fidgets a bit, half-heartedly testing to see if I’ll let him up. He can keep hoping.  


I’m grinning. I know the expression on my face must look pretty silly, but I can’t bring myself to care. This is Sherlock Holmes, a high-functioning sociopath and my best friend, and he’s embarrassed. I have to be one of the only people in the world—next to Mycroft and his parents—who have seen Sherlock blush. I can’t help it; I’m feeling smug.  


“Stop it,” Sherlock snaps, and my smile fades. He honestly looks hurt. I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong when he spits out, “Stop...looking down on me.”  


How? How in the world have I made this beautiful, brilliant man so self-conscious? Why does he trust me enough to show me this vulnerable side of him?  


How much would it take to see him unravel completely for me?  


I shake my head vigorously to banish that particular thought from my mind. I stroke his cheek softly with the back of my index finger and try not to feel disheartened when he recoils away from the touch. “I’m not looking down on you, Sherlock. I’m just confused,” I explain. “What are you embarrassed about?”  


His gaze burns into me and his voice is a dagger to my heart as he says, “I don’t do this sort of thing. I don’t get this sort of reaction. Especially not from an experiment and especially not from you.”  


That...shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.  


I roll off him and off my bed, pulling my pants up, breathing deeply to steady myself, and throw my arm out, pointing to the door.  


“Leave,” I order. His eyes widen in surprise and his pupils vibrate a little, a sign I recognize as him replaying an event in his mind palace. It must have dawned on him exactly what he’d said to me. He gets up, but instead of heading for the door, he moves towards me. “No,” I plead say. “Get out of my room.”  


“John, that’s not what I—”  


“What?” I snap at him and he has the nerve not to flinch away from me. “Not what you meant? You didn’t mean you’ve been toying with me? You didn’t mean you’d never even consider letting me touch you? What? Is it because you’re not gay? That obviously didn’t bother you when I said it!” I’m rating now and I know it, but the words won’t stop. “Am I just not good enough for you, Sherlock?” He does flinch at that. “Why’d you even come here? Why did you feel inclined to come in here and fuck with my life?”  


“Because you asked me to,” he replied coolly, shifting closer.  


“I did what?”  


He saunters closer still and I back up into the wall, feeling like a concerned animal. I’m prepared to fight, but he stops a pace away. “I asked you earlier if it were a man or a woman in your dream. Do you remember? The reason I asked you that is due to the reason I entered your room in the first place,” he explains in that infuriatingly sexy voice.  


“Which was?” I ask, anger bubbling up inside me. My fists clench as he takes another step towards me.  


“You moaned my name,” he says simply.  


Oh.  


Yeah, that’s a pretty good reason, you guess.  


I’m kissing him now—when did that happen?—and the anger I’d felt hasn’t completely disappeared. I battle him for dominance in the kiss and he doesn’t seem intent to lose. I’m being pushed into the wall as he presses against me, but that changes in a flash. I slam his back into the wall and shove my thigh between his. He moans wantonly and that sound is enough to get my blood rushing again.  


I feel him swell against me as my fingers grasp his arms roughly. So that’s what he likes, huh? Yeah, I’m perfectly okay with this.  


“Let’s try this again,” I growl, nipping his bottom lip a bit harder than I normally would. He seems to appreciate it nonetheless, rocking his body into mine. I lower my hands to undo his zip and tug down his trousers and pants just enough to expose his prick. He does the same for me, sliding the red fabric of my underwear over my arse and to hang between my thighs.  


Sometimes I really hate my height. I’m not as Napoleonic about it as some people, but with my dick pressed into Sherlock’s thigh and his pressed into my stomach, it’s a bit awkward. I stand up on my tiptoes and he shrinks down a bit so we can align them. I don’t look down—my head’s busy with a mouthful of Sherlock’s throat—but I can tell he’s longer than me. His prick is actually a lot like the rest of him: long, slender, and elegant. I never thought I’d describe a penis as elegant, but his is just—ohhhhh, okay.  


He thrusts his hips forward, sliding his length along mine so smoothly. As if the pleasure from the contact alone wasn’t enough to make my knees wobble, Sherlock’s reaction makes me want to come instantly.  


His eyes widen in what can only be described as disbelief, and his mouth opens wide, jaw stretching as he makes possibly the most lascivious sound I have ever heard. His voice cracks halfway through the moan and his breathing falters. His whole body shudders against mine and I hold him tighter, afraid he might fall.  


“John,” he moans. “Johnjohnjohn, that’s...uuunnnn, that’s fantastic. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”  


Well I guess that answers my previous mental question about how much it takes for him to unravel—not much. Not much at all.  


I obey him, though, frantically grasping both of our cocks in one hand and pumping erratically. Obviously, this is the first time Sherlock’s done anything like this, so he’s already close...and if I’m going to be completely candid, the sounds he’s making put me right on the edge, too. It isn’t long before my second orgasm of the day makes my whole body weak and I find myself falling into Sherlock for support. His long arms wrap around my waist tightly as his own climax makes his body shake.  


We both stand there for quite some time, slumped against the wall and panting, coated in our own sweat and necks covered in dark hickeys. Sherlock’s the first to make a move. He clears his throat and I nod, pushing away from him. Instead of letting me go, however, he just drags me over to the bed and we fall down on our sides there. I look up into his eyes, searching for something—I’m not sure what, though. My pulse and my breathing are both slowing back to their normal rate, and I pull myself closer to Sherlock, curling into his chest.  


“Mmmm,” he hums and it vibrates in his chest. “John. I. I need to explain something.”  


“No, Sherlock, please don’t,” I mumble. “Don’t ruin the moment.”  


Sherlock laughs lightly, awkwardly.  


“Okay, fine. But I retain the right to ignore you.”  


“Fair enough. I just...wanted to clear something up. What I said earlier, about not doing this sort of thing...I don’t. I haven’t so much as masturbated since I was a teenager, back when it was necessary for my health. And even then I didn’t do it often. The mind is what’s important. Everything else is just transport.” He pauses and I murmur something incoherent to let him know I’m still listening. “My doubts,” he continues uncertainly. “Involve you. Involved, I suppose. I’m a sociopath, after all. A self-recognized one, but still a sociopath. I don’t...do well. With friendships. And I’ve never had a romantic inclination towards anyone before...and certainly not a lustful proclivity. But when I saw you, eyes closed and fluttering from REM sleep, with your hips bucking in the air as you moaned my name...I...I was suddenly okay with the idea. Of, well, engaging in sexual intercourse with you.”  


I like this story. It’s a nice story. But there’s still something bothering me. “So why’d you say you didn’t want to?”  


“I didn’t. I never said I didn’t want to, I just said it’s not something I do. Especially not with you. Because...you’re my best friend, John. And I didn’t want to ruin my only proper friendship by demanding too much of you. I didn’t want you to hate me, to be disgusted by me for liking you...even now, I don’t understand. Are we still friends, or are we lovers?”  


I chuckle under my breath and smile, tilting my chin up to kiss him chastely on the lips, mouth forming so perfectly to his. When I pull back, there’s still an innocent look of concern on Sherlock’s face.  


“We can be both,” I tell him sweetly, kissing him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! If you're reading this, you got through the fic! (Or you just scrolled to the end to see if I'd written anything. Who knows) 
> 
> Either way, congrats!
> 
> So yeah. Please comment or leave kudos or whatever. I'd really appreciate it! :D


End file.
